


The Shivers

by starkcontrast



Series: Natasha's Kids [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Natasha Romanov, Coughing, Gen, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Kid Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Character, Sneezing, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Vomiting, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, nat acting like wanda's big sis, they're really soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkcontrast/pseuds/starkcontrast
Summary: After the events of Ultron, Wanda was brought back to the United States with the rest of the Avengers, under the assurance that she would leave her life of Hydra-lead torment behind, and train to become something better. An Avenger, perhaps; but it wasn’t as easy as one-two-three. At the base of it all, Wanda first had to adjust to moving to the other side of the world; and her body was making sure to draw it out as long as possible, in the form of throwing up at even the mention of any food, to clogged noses and fevers that would rival any of the worst flu seasons one has ever witnessed.Lucky for Wanda, she has new… friends that are willing to sit by her side as she sweats - then shivers - profusely, and pukes her guts out.





	The Shivers

**Author's Note:**

> hi i was sick and felt like absolute death, so I wrote this little number. Hope you guys enjoy soft momma nat & the domestic™ avengers! (I know this is TERRIBLY written and shows no effort and/or writing skill whatsoever, but I feel too awful to even attempt to make this a fancy writing experiment. I just wanted to write some quick fluff to clear my head and channel all of my problems into fictional characters because we aLL LOVE healthy coping mechanisms). also, i start school tomorrow and yeah i'm excited to see my friends & teachers but like... i want to read & write all day, too. so that sucks :/

The events of Sokovia - dubbed the ‘Age of Ultron’ - had come and gone. Nearly five weeks had passed, and the small, war-torn was on its way to rebuilding itself (with the help of the Tony Stark Relief Foundation - thanks to Pepper, of course), and the costs of the damages were immediately settled. The citizens of Sokovia were just grateful to be alive, and a generous donation from one particular sarcastic billionaire was proving to be much more extensive than they had ever expected. Poverty was slowly, but surely, on the decrease, and job opportunities from the rubble cleanup and recovery crew brought forth a glimmering light of hope for the once jobless majority. It seemed as if everything was getting back to normal - perhaps even a better version of normal for Sokovia.

However, not all of Sokovia’s residents (or… former residents) were as happy as the others. Wanda Maximoff had been through hell and back before even nearing her legal adulthood, and nothing could quell that ethereal ache in her chest that she couldn't quite pinpoint, but felt it pulsating, quivering, growing - constantly. 

At age 10, as her mother was setting the table just as her father walked in the door, and Pietro was running around the kitchen just begging to sneak a bite of the fresh Paprikash, her family home was blown to smithereens. The only survivors were her and her ‘older-by-twelve-minutes’ twin brother Pietro.

At age 13, when both - now homeless - orphans were just beginning to enter the awkward years of puberty and their mutual, physical changes began to frighten them, a man by the name of Baron Strucker approached them with the promise of plentiful food and shelter, in exchange for their willing cooperation in a few ‘harmless’ experiments. They were tortured, poked, prodded, their blood transfused with glowing, neon liquid until even more physical changes - these ones far worse than any aches and pains that puberty might bring - began to take shape.

At age 16, their new ‘home’ was invaded by the very people they were told to fear, and the teenagers were scared. They were so scared and all they wanted was their mama and papa and to be back in their parents’ warm, safe embrace. But that life was long gone, and all that the two remaining Maximoffs had left was this facility. So they fought like they were taught to. But then their own team turned on them - turned on life - and the Maximoffs were rendered abandoned yet again. They fought alongside the Avengers, screaming in anger as they took out robot after robot and swore together to die a horrible death before allowing any innocents to get caught in the crossfire… like they had been. 

And then Pietro died with that promise on the tip of his tongue, but Wanda lived. Wanda lived and she shouldn’t have! They swore to die together if they had to. They never agreed upon Pietro running off and taking twelve bullets to the chest. One for every minute that they were apart in the world. 

But now, Wanda had been - and would be - without Pietro far longer than twelve minutes.

Five weeks had passed since the day she truly lost everything and had moved to the other side of the world with a group of enhanced individuals just like her. At first it scared her, because it eerily felt a lot like the way she had been recruited by Strucker; but then, on the jet ride to America, as Wanda dozed off and her head fell onto Steve Roger’s broad shoulders without him consequently shouting at her, the teen began to think differently. She began to trust them, to train with them, to eat with them, to occasionally have long conversations with them in English instead of Sokovian. 

And then... the sniffles began. It was nothing major - just a few coughs and sneezes and sniffs here and there during intense training sequences. Wanda easily brushed them off and assured Natasha and Steve that it was probably just the dreaded springtime allergies coming to bite her in the butt. They hesitantly agreed to drop it, with Sam muttering something along the lines of kids’ immune systems being weak as hell, and that was that. 

-

“You don’t sound too good, Wanda. Are you sure you don’t want to take the day off to rest?” Steve asked as Wanda’s lungs emitted a string of deafening, barking coughs and the sound of squelching mucous. Her teammates raised their eyebrows. 

“Steve, Nat, I told you I’m fine! It’s just allergies - you don’t need to keep bringing it up,” Wanda assured as they stood in the center of the training room. “I’ll take a hot shower instead of a cold one after this, okay? My mom used to always say that: that the best way to clear your lungs is with a hot shower. But I can only go and shower if we ever finish up this session,” the teen retorted, a reassuring half-grin on her face.

Natasha didn’t seem to budge, as her arms remained crossed over her chest and eyes continuously monitored Wanda’s body language and expressions. Having dealt with her fair share of injuries and illnesses while on missions all over the world, the woman knew what to look for. And, from Natasha’s standpoint, the kid looked as if she was about to topple over. “Let’s end early for lunch today,” her calm voice sounded as a smirk rose up onto her face, and Steve nodded in agreement. “There, now you can go shower.”

Wanda opened her mouth to retort, but all that came out was yet another string of coughs, as well as a sneeze that she contained in the crook of her elbow. “...Okay.”

Both adults seemed pleased, and Steve walked over to wrap an arm around the girl’s small shoulders. “Good. Take some of the allergy meds that Bruce gave you, while you’re at it, okay?”

Wanda shook her head, eyebrows furrowing. “I have been, but I don’t think they’re working. I’m sorry,” she replied, a small frown of self-disappointment overcoming her features. 

Both Steve and Natasha looked perplexed. It was a simple thought, really: allergy medication is supposed to reduce the symptoms of said allergies, even if only by a tiny, miniscule amount. But Wanda showed no signs of progress, and her congestions and drowsiness pressed on. “I’ll ask Bruce if he can increase the dosage for you. For now, though, go give your lungs a break for a while, alright? Take your time - we’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re done,” Steve’s calm, steady voice said, and Wanda simply nodded in reply as she stepped aside to head up to her room and take a much-needed shower.

Just as the teen was about to leave the training room, Natasha called out to her. “I’ll walk with you. I think I might follow your lead and head up to my room to shower, too.” 

Wanda mustered up a small smile and, together, the pair headed over to the elevator and pressed their individual floor numbers (Wanda was 4, and Natasha was 6 - the highest floor possible in the Compound, per Tony’s genius and her own personal preference. The solitude was comforting, in her opinion). However, as soon as the elevator doors closed, Wanda felt her head began to throb with an overwhelming feeling of dizziness - like she was flying, but her feet was stuck to the floor and the entire world just kept spinning a thousand miles a minute. Natasha noticed the younger girl’s slightly wobbling stance and shaky hands that glistened with sweat after wiping her forehead. 

“You alright?” Natasha asked, her voice soft and undeniably concerned. Wanda kept her eyes on the floor in an attempt to ground herself and maintain some kind of balance, but her shoulders caved inwards in discomfort. 

“Yeah,” the teen’s airy voice replied, taking a sharp inhale. “I’m… I’m fine.”

Ding! 

They arrived at the fourth floor with a slight jolt, and Wanda immediately pushed herself off of the reliable walls of the elevator. She took a step forward, and immediately regretted it as she stumbled right into the adjacent wall. Everything was spinning and swirling and caving in on her and all she wanted was to crawl up into a ball and beg the world to stop shouting at her - it was all too much too much too much. Wanda’s lungs quivered as coughs continued to rack her chest until even the simple act of breathing began to hurt. 

Natasha slowly kneeled down beside the shaking teenager that was moaning in agitation and discomfort as she struggled to stay upright, and extended a hand to her, letting it fall gently onto Wanda’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to your room before you pass out in the elevator.”

The teen hesitantly obliged, attempting to pull herself up and just force her body to work properly, but before Wanda’s legs had the chance to give out again, Natasha snaked an arm around the girl’s waist and hoisted her up with ease. The older woman took her time with getting Wanda out of the elevator and into her room, not wanting the kid to collapse from exhaustion in the middle of the hallway.

After a few symbiotic steps toward Wanda’s bedroom, Natasha led the teen over to her tousled, unmade bed and watched with uncertainty as she curled herself up, not even bothering to slip her legs under the covers. With a sudden, momentary action that she had seen Clint and Laura do with their own kids, Natasha outstretched her arm and let the back of her cool hand rest against Wanda’s forehead. 

Natasha was, quite honestly, surprised that steam didn’t appear from the sheer contrast of their body temperatures. 

“You’re burning up,” the woman muttered, letting her eyebrows twitch in confusion (or, perhaps, concern? No - no, that couldn’t be it). “Hey... how long have you been feeling like this?”

The teen shook her head dismissively, pushing away the older woman’s hand with a weak shove. “I don’t know - a while, I guess. It’s fine, you don’t need to fuss over me, I swear. I’ll meet you all in the kitchen after I shower.”

Natasha exhaled, taking a step away from Wanda’s bed as she crossed her arms over her chest yet again. “Then stand up.”

“What?”

Natasha jutted her chin out, beckoning for the girl’s attention. “Stand up; show me that you have enough wherewithal to get yourself out of bed and into the shower, and then I’ll leave. Deal?”

Wanda seemed to falter at that statement, but realized that she had no other than to begrudgingly agree. “O-okay, sure, fine,” she insisted, a mildly indignant scoff exiting her lips as she firmly set her hands on the bed and pushed herself up, 

Wanda did, in fact, manage to maneuver herself off of her warm comforter and land in a semi-graceful stance; but suddenly the ground felt much harder and with each new breath of oxygen the air felt much hotter and more stagnant than ever and - was the room shaking?

Wanda let her wobbling legs carry her to the bathroom before collapsing on the cold tile floor with a thud. Natasha watched the scene unfold with an almost stoic expression, but no matter how hard she tried, the woman couldn’t push away the unruly feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her want to go check on the kid. 

The faint little voice all the way at the back of Natasha’s head kept telling her, screaming at her, to walk away - to just leave the kid to fend for herself and let the illness run its course, whether that be puking her guts out or coughing up a shriveled, mucus-filled lung. Wanda would be okay on her own; she had been through much worse already. From personal experience, Natasha knew that children can withstand a lot if pushed, and the kid had been pushed all the way to hell and back. 

But… was that really a way to live? Yes, Natasha Romanoff - the infamous Black Widow - had been raised under the strict philosophy that feelings were for children. Feelings are meant to be bottled up and stashed away in whatever mental crevice is malleable enough to hold them; and if they ever dared to come undone, those feelings were then beaten out of you. There was never a way around it. 

Natasha didn’t want Wanda to feel that… that. There wasn’t a string of words in the English language to adequately describe it. 

So then that blasted feeling crept back into Natasha’s stomach and her legs began to move against her own volition and a few crafty Russian explicatives fell from her tight lips as she opened up the door to the bathroom and - shit. 

There, with her legs curled up against the cold floor of the bathroom, sat Wanda. Her light brown locks were tousled and ridden with sweat, her face angled toward the open toilet with loose arms that dangled on the seat. 

Heave. 

Gag. 

Wanda’s shoulders jerked as another round of vomit sent her body curling in on itself. Once the bile was done forcing itself out of Wanda’s stomach, the girl took a deep, labored breath and let her head fall back onto the cooling porcelain of the toilet seat. “Sorry,” she muttered, having seen Natasha enter the bathroom out of the corner of her eye. “That was gross.”

The older woman decided that a short chuckle would be the best response to that - it seemed like a mildly reassuring thing to do, even if only for a second. “Yeah, it really was. Please be more considerate with your vomit next time.”

Wanda mirrored Natasha’s small laugh before letting another exhausted sigh tumble from her lips. “I, uh, didn’t know that pollen allergies make you throw up your breakfast. It’s never done that before - I don’t really like it.”

Natasha’s emotionless visage faltered for just a moment - the teen’s pale complexion and sunken-in eyes completely taking over her innate aloofness and turning it upside down. Only for just a moment, of course. 

“It usually doesn’t…” the woman uttered, a finely plucked brow quirking in realization. “Wanda, how long have you been in the Compound? Or, in America, for that matter.”

Wanda bit her lip in thought. “I’m not sure - it's been maybe four weeks since you all brought me here, give or take. Why?”

The side of Natasha’s mouth lifted up into a passive half-smile. “I don’t think it’s your allergies that are making you this miserable. I think your body is just in shock from moving to a new country, with new people, and rigorously training for hours a day with barely any rest. Don’t even try to deny it, kiddo - I hear you sneaking out of your room in the middle of the night-” Wanda immediately lowered her gaze. 

“Hey,” the woman said, and with a spur of the moment decision, moved to sit on the edge of the bathtub just a few inches away from the red-faced (yet somehow still pale) girl. “Don’t be embarrassed. You know, uh,…” Natasha cleared her throat, thoroughly debating how much she should tell the kid about her past - but she quickly decided, throwing all caution to the wind. Screw it. “The only reason I know any of this is because I lived through it.”

“What?” Wanda’s meek voice piped up, throaty and raw. 

Natasha hummed. “When Clint first brought me to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, I had actually already been in the U.S. for nearly a month - not that they needed to know any of that. I spent weeks puking my guts out on the floor of his bathroom, on his little family farm. It was where I had my first taste of life without the KGB. It took me a while to get over the shock of it all, both mentally and physically, I suppose. Sometimes you need to just let your body hit the reset button, so just… cough up everything you need to, and try to get some rest. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Wanda couldn’t help the watery smile that nudged its way onto her face, leaning back so that her shoulder blades touched against Natasha’s spandex-clad thigh.

Soon enough, the teen felt that same rising feeling in her throat, and immediately lurched forward to continue emptying her stomach’s contents into the toilet. This time, however, Natasha slinked down to sit behind her, brushing Wanda’s hair back and holding it gently out of the way with her right hand, whilst her left hand hesitantly fell to the girl’s back, rubbing small circles onto the surface of her sweaty t-shirt. 

No words were spoken as Wanda continued to retch into the toilet, take a few deep breaths, and then throw up again. Even once all of the contents of her stomach were gone, acidic bile forced its way up her throat, as well. It felt like an endless cycle for the obviously irritated girl.

But, about twenty agonizing minutes later, as Wanda finished lurching forward for the twelfth freaking time, she felt her stomach muscles begin to relax, and her lungs settle enough to slowly begin accepting more and more air. 

“Better?” Natasha’s silky smooth, yet still somehow unreadable, voice piped up from behind the teen, and Wanda swore she would have fallen asleep right then and there to the sound of it. It sounded so much like her mama, whenever Wanda used to fall ill in her earlier years and the gently-spoken woman used to rock her to sleep with soothing Sokovian lullabies. 

Shifting so that her back leaned against the base of the tub, Wanda managed a nod, though was afraid that even the smallest of movement might upset her stomach again. “A little, yes,” her raspy voice replied. “Thank you for, you know, holding my hair back.”

“You’re welcome-” Natasha let a small chuckle fall from her lips. “But you should probably shower. I’ll grab you a towel and lay out some clothes on your bed. Take as much time as you need.”

Wanda nodded gratefully, and took a few more seconds to steady herself on the floor after the older woman left the bathroom, before pushing herself up and turning on the shower to nearly the highest temperature possible. She tugged off her leggings, t-shirt and undergarments and threw them into the hamper on the other side of the bathroom with a yawn, then slowly stepped into the shower, wincing as the hot water pelted her body.

The steam was quick to do wonders on her mucus-lined lungs, and the relief made her feel like she could run a freaking marathon without a hitch. Wanda inhaled for a few blissful seconds, soaking up the warmth from steam and ducking her head under the water to clear her face of any built up sweat or dirt, from training. 

When she finally finished cleaning herself off and realized that she had to get out of the shower at some point, the teen opened the glass door with a frown, already feeling some of the congestion begin to creep back. It wasn’t as unbearable as before, but it was still annoying, and the constant sniffling was like sandpaper to her ears. 

Wanda noticed two fluffy, white towels perched on the toilet seat, obviously left there by Natasha at some point. Wrapping one of them tightly around her chest and the other around her sopping wet hair, the girl made her way out of the bathroom and connected her feet with the soft carpet of her bedroom. 

“Welcome back,” Natasha spoke up, mildly startling Wanda as the woman sat on the edge of the girl’s bed, her phone in hand and a pile of comfortable-looking clothes in a neat pile beside her. “Here, put these on. I threw your clothes from earlier into the wash, and you don’t have much in your closet aside from some dresses, leather jackets and exercise wear, so I got you some sweatpants and a shirt from my closet. They should fit you just fine.”

Wanda bit her lip as a grin spread across her features. A feeling of warmth spread throughout her body, contrasting with the coldness of her blood from the fever that plagued her cells. “Wow, t-thank you, Natasha.”

“No need to thank me,” Natasha stated dismissively, mirroring the teen’s small smile. “And, you know, feel free to borrow anything you need from my closet if you need to. There aren’t any other girls on the team, so we need to have each other’s backs, right?”

“Nat…” Wanda’s soft voice piped up, internally batting away the urge to cough. 

The older woman trailed her eyes over Wanda’s face, as if searching it for any sign of sadness or discomfort or malaise. “Yeah?”

“Can I hug you?”

Natasha almost paled at the question, certainly not expecting it from the usually meek, reserved teen. But the woman had to remind herself that Wanda was just a kid, and kids need affection and reassurance, and they get scared when they’re sick and want their parents to hold them as they throw up and whisper words of comfort in their ears until they fall asleep. Wanda was just a kid, but she didn’t have any of that anymore. 

Natasha shook herself out of her trance, gently nodding as she stood up, took a large step forward, and wrapped her arms around the younger girl. She was stiff for a moment, not quite knowing what she was doing, but as soon as she felt Wanda release a deep breath and lower her face into the crook of Natasha’s neck, she slowly relaxed her muscles and held the girl closer, pressing her hands against the soft fabric of Wanda’s towel.

“You’ll be okay,” Natasha spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.”

Wanda didn’t respond; she simply linked her arms around the woman’s waist, letting her face press against the warmth that seemed to radiate off of Natasha’s chest. 

Wanda Maximoff would be okay. After all, she did have Natasha Romanoff by her side.


End file.
